


A Perfect Paradox

by JovianMoony



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Canon-Typical Violence, Science Fiction, Vex (Destiny) - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:34:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25512142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JovianMoony/pseuds/JovianMoony
Summary: Adrift in the Corridors of Time, a lone Guardian saves a legend, and re-writes history forever.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

Mercury was supposed to be a garden world. Even after the Vex’s poison, it was paradise, an Eden in bloom lit in soothing colors by the mild midday sun. Creepers and vines grew where flowers did not, snaking their way over shimmering, mathematically precise alien architecture. Some kind of spire had been built into and around this particular knoll, glittering identically to all those mingling with red-gold trees in the distant sunny skyline. Nearby, a man-made structure muscled for prominence among perfect geometry and the march of nature. Zephyr Station. Now, barely more than a blasted ruin, strewn in bodies and spent shells and all that might have been. It would have been quiet, solemn as it should have been, were it not for the fires of battle all around.

A lone Guardian stood in a circle of trampled grass and well-trodden earth. He was possibly seven feet tall, wide and heavily armored, wearing a crested helmthat spoke of ancient warriors who once stood in this very same futility. Holding the line, hopeless. Light poured from his outstretched palms, purple and cold, coalescing in an impenetrable bubble around him. Anything that invaded it was blinded by his incandescence, made vulnerable. Vile interlopers were met with fists like a tempest, crosses and jabs with spiked knuckle dusters and all the force of a speeding train. Dozens had died of this folly, but not all of the bodies broken at the Guardian’s feet were of his enemy. A handful were humans, laid as respectfully as possible given the circumstances. Colonists. Entire families. People he had sworn to protect, picked off and savaged and taken too soon. The bitterness of failure threatened to strangle him, but still he defended what was left of their bodies. He stood fast, but he stood alone. For how much longer, none could say.

The Fallen surrounded him in baffling number. It could have well been the entirety of the House of Rain swirling about him, a battalion's worth of the dishonored aliens supporting a sedan-sized insectiod walker tank and a Servitor that blotted out the sky before him. Four-armed creatures dressed for war had encircled him, cut him off. A hurricane of beady eyes, gnashing fangs, tangled limbs and jury-rigged tech. Vultures. Pirates. _Butchers_. Desperation and savagery crashed against his ward again and again, each wave of ineffective attack stopped dead by his stalwart Light. Still, Saint's foe never relented. His strength would run, they knew. No matter how many tank shells and shock rounds it took, he would fall like the rest of them. Bloodthirsty cries in a mangled tongue screamed for his head on a platter.

Saint-14 was tempted to let them have it.

The crashing of energy projectiles against his shield made the Titan grit his teeth, the strain of keeping it up felt in his very bones. It was the Servitor this time, the orb-shaped robot joining the onslaught with Arc blasts from it’s unfeeling eye. It trilled machine-speak, a war cry or an order, and sent another volley. Another. _Another,_ a floating ziggurat joined by the flashing guns of it’s zealous. Cramps in his neck strained the effort as Saint looked left and right, slowly taking in his situation. Feeling his comms device bite into his throat. He had been using his Ghost to bootstrap a distress signal, hoping somebody would rush to their aid. That hope had long since run. Now, all he could think to do was dissuade the brave. Clicking the mic live, he rumbled nihilistic truths through a dry throat.

“I repeat, this is Saint-14. The Fallen have overrun Zephyr Station. If you can hear this, turn back!”

This time was different. Radio crackle ripped through his helmet in reply, simmering white noise like nails on a chalkboard. Sharp, unpleasant, enough to give him a headache if he didn’t already have one. The voice behind it was less so. A woman, as far as he could tell, her barely accented inflection caring, soothing... maternal. “Hold position,” she said. “You have an armed Guardian incoming.”

“Who is this!?” he demanded, brow furrowed deeply behind his helm.

“Just stay alive. Please.”

The feed cut with another peel of awful static, leaving Saint to grumble his confusion. There weren’t any Guardians here but him… at least, as far as he knew. Was this a rescue party?If she had come for him, she had come too late.In the distance, he heard the sounds of clamor. Panicked alien chatter, the crashes and pops of a gunfight only a Guardian could have. Gunfire, explosions, flashes of otherworldly glow. Purple celestial nothing just like that pouring into his shield plumed like a solar prominence above a far hill, crisp as the space between stars. Every second saw the calamity marching closer, every step let Saint feel the tug of her Light in the pit of his guts. No. She didn’t understand. She couldn’t know she was walking into a death trap. Slapping the comlink on throat, the Titan growled warning as another volley struck his shield.

“All is lost, Guardian!” he insisted. “Get out of here- I’ll hold them off for as long as I can!”

“That’s not happening,” she replied. “Hold on.”

More poured from him through gritted teeth. He would _make_ her understand. “The Fallen cannot be stopped. They do not negotiate. Their bargains are _lies.”_ he spat, venom and hatred behind every word. Tears of abject fury pricked behind the Titan's optics as he recalled, his voice ratcheting in intensity. "I have watched them burn and pillage whole villages in the Cosmodrome. I have watched Dregs _eat children!_ "

The walker's cannon drowned out the rest, solar munitions bursting fire and shrapnel across his ward like a water balloon full of gasoline. Too much. Saint dropped to a knee, roaring his frustration as his plasteel greave kicked up the muddy ground. No. Get up. You couldn't stand before, but you dammed well better stand now. Shakily, he rose, digging his heels back in and forcing more Light into the shield. Possibly his last measure. Arc bolts danced hostility in a terrible light show, snapping and hissing like drooling fangs. A hollow, metallic din filled the chorus as the Servitor growled, pulsating with wispy energy and pumping out ether by the gallon. Saint knew the substance was like amphetamine in such high doses, the effect on the Fallen’s demeanor immediate. Beasts already savage went nearly feral, Dregs with docked arms and chop together energy weapons frothing at the mouth with their newfound strength. Whatever it took to keep them pushing. It wouldn’t be long before...

Saint’s sinuses filled with ozone before he ever saw it coming. A lance split the sky above him, an orb of midnight negating the atmosphere and crashing headlong into the Servitor. Rippling, undulating Void Light peeled reality in sheets in it’s wake, making a noise akin to an eighteen-wheeler careening into a gong as warp-space met metal. The machine god faltered, slowly atomizing as it’s armored shell spun rampant and it issued a death keel. Everything ground to a halt. Arc rounds puttered out and nearly stopped, the wet _thunk_ of disintegrating metal hitting the loam overpowering the bewildered Eliksni around him. Then, all their beady eyes stabbed in the same direction, and the howling began anew.

The sound of a pump action cut the choir of alien chatter and clashing shock blades, curt enough to pull Saint’s gaze. A lone figure stood at the edge of the clearing, where the Vex blocks parted for a passage beyond. She was clad in a midnight blue long coat, with boots, gauntlets, and helm of matching polished obsidian. Still, she thrummed with the Light of her opening attack, the Traveler’s gift pouring off of her powerfully enough to taste. It was her weapon that had called the Fallen to challenge- a chromed shotgun, gleaming in the sunlight brightly enough to hurt Saint’s eyes. Blade and revolver sat at her hips as well, each temping fate, begging to be drawn and let blood. They’d have their chance. The Fallen wouldn’t hesitate to punish her audacity.

They fell on her like a pack of wolves.

Gloriously, awesomely, the Guardian replied with force tenfold. Her shotgun spoke superheated daggers, each snap of the automatic trigger sending an adversary into the muck with a wash of ether. Eight flashes and it said no more, but she refused to relent. Letting the weapon fall on it’s sling, she called steel to sing from leather and flash into the sun, a broadsword of peerless make dancing a lethal tango in every direction. Shock blades were turned away, merciless ripostes cleaving armor and flesh as if paper. The Fallen leaned on their numbers, piling her dozens at a time with thrashing limbs and unbridled rage. It wasn’t enough. Scores fell as she flowed through them, around Saint, in and out of his shield, allowing his Light to armor her and render her weapon sharper still. The horde never had a chance. Every lucky nick this Guardian took was repaid in a dozen lives. They would run, but even this wouldn’t be enough. As the foe thinned to their wretches, Saint could see her battle was far from over.

There was still the matter of the walker. The very earth trembled beneath it’s massive hooves as it reoriented itself, a titanic _thunk, thunk, thunk_ felt through Saint’s boots and in his throat. It stopped to face the Guardians head on, using it’s body to cover most of it’s weak points. Metal scraped against itself as the turret found position with a mechanical whine. Red targeting lasers sprung to life and took aim, the tell-tale low hum of charging propulsion coils an undercurrent to the clashes of steel all around. A blinking dot appeared on his savior’s collar just as she finished an exchange of blades. One of the alien musketeers had grown bold, forcing her into a protracted duel. A grazing thrust split armor and fieldweave, adding a bleeding gash to the Guardian’s growing collection. She made him pay for it. The Vandal fell clutching his throat, and before he had even hit the floor she had swirled to face the real danger. Not a moment too soon.

The blast was deafening this close. At point-bank range, the Guardian had less than a breath to make her move. She dove to the side with all her strength as the ground erupted in a fireball, scorched dirt kicked up hundreds of meters high and showering Saint’s shield like hail. Dust settled, and let him see. A foot to the left, and she’d have been reduced to ashes… of course she hadn’t gotten out unscathed. Plasteel on her left arm had been melted and shredded, smoldering with fire until she slapped herself into the dirt and snuffed it. Saint had no doubt the burns beneath were egregious. Excruciating. If this Guardian had called out, he hadn’t heard. A ball of Void appeared in her good hand before being swallowed by her palm, the glow coursing down her body, up the ruined arm. Miraculously, she was able to lift it, flex the fingers, use it to scrape up her sword that still glowed orange with solar heat. There was no doubt she was fighting through abject agony, but it wouldn’t matter. That tank was hers.

Turning on a heel. Saint’s savior broke into a full-pelt sprint directly at the walker. Her nigh-useless hand held her sword underhand, point perpendicular to her waist. The other grasped at her thigh, pulling up an otherworldly hand cannon that twinkled like a night sky. Electricity stabbed the back of the mind, crackling harshly as the walker attempted to dissuade her approach. An alarm siren, then dorsal hatches snapping open- _thump, thump, thump._ Arc charges detonated in air-bursts all around, making hairs stand on end and lightning fork between metal and sod. The Guardian wove through them as if she was stepping between raindrops, letting them pop ineffectually all around. She was within a stone’s throw when she attacked. The method was... unconventional.

Saint finally heard his savior cry out in pain as she hefted the blade shoulder-height with incredible effort. A surprisingly dexterous twist, and she was holding the sword by it’s edge like a pilum. Ripping tendons and unset bones could be heard over the charges detonating around her like fireworks. Half of fury and half of torment, she screamed incomprehensibly and stopped a breath. Heels dug in. Every muscle flexed and tensed. Then, with all the force she could muster, the Guardian sent her sword flying through the air overhand, darting through the air with righteous speed towards one of the walker’s legs. It less impacted more than simply appeared, slotting to the hilt into a kink between armored plates at the joint. Saint could easily guess it had shredded servos and circuitry, even before mechanical whine deafened him. One stroke, and it was on the ropes.

Trying to heft itself on a useless leg, the walker’s forend bit dirt as robotics buckled and gave in. Rolling clouds of smoke could be seen coming from the beast’s ‘head.’ Saint had done battle with these creatures enough to know what that meant. It had overreached, and now the heat sinks could stand no more. A swell of victorious abandon surged in his breast as the hood popped, the cobbled together war machine rendered motionless while the entire head assembly slid forward and down. The main drive engine was exposed, a mass of mechanics glowing with steel-melting heat. A weakness. The Guardian didn’t wait to exploit it.

Light brushed her back like autumn wind as she leaped forward, propelling her faster and higher with trails of shimmering force. Her boots found purchase atop the behemoth, legs straddling the engine, standing in the mirage of it’s unbearable heat. Snapping in-line with her spine, her only good arm leveled her revolver downward in vengeful threat. The cylinder was empty in moments. She hammered the trigger roughly, depressing it with jumpy fire before any real discipline. At this range, it wouldn’t matter. Cracks of energy actuated starlight sent high-caliber slugs point blank into the beast, each severing fuel lines and smashing pistons and rending vital systems asunder. That was all it took. Spitting oil and licking with flame, the walker shuddered, swayed, told the tale of it’s own impending doom. Saint didn’t need to warn his savior before she’d jumped off, landing on her knee mere feet away as her foe erupted in a plume of fire and wreckage. Rushing wind from the explosion flapped her coat trails as debris impacted the ground all around her.

She didn’t so much as flinch until she tried to stand. Something like a sob escaped her as she slumped, all of her wounds seeming to catch up with her at once. It was clear she’d used the last of her fight, but it didn’t matter. The Fallen had scattered in retreat, any survivors keen to cut their losses before contenting with the likes of her. Her Ghost appeared in a shimmer, matte black and dour, fluttering about her and washing her in Light of it’s own. That was all it took to tell Saint he was safe. The purple filter around his world dropped as he did, bubble snuffed as he too took a knee. They could rest, he was sure. It was over. Their foe was nothing but corpses and wreckage, small fires burning in battle-scarred dirt all around the Guardians as they sucked heavy breath.

She was the first to rise. Standing tall and shaky, the Guardian who had saved him splayed her reforged hand, and used it to press at her mended side. Even through her helmet, Saint could hear her relieved huff. Good as new. Revolver found leather again, and a few steps back allowed her to retrieve her blade from the smoldering husk that was the walker. Checking herself one last time, she punched the release of her helmet with the heel of her hand, letting it pop and thud into the dirt unceremoniously. The Awoken beneath was filthy, her glowing blue skin covered in sweat and dried blood. For all her deeds, she didn’t look like a warrior. Bright eyes like silvered starlight reflected nothing but kindness and empathy. Raven hair, battle-mussed as it was, hung over her soft face in a neat fringe, clearly well kept and styled. Her smile was slight, easy, deliberately assuring to him and him alone. Nothing like the scraggly outlaws Saint had killed, or the dozens of grimy refugees he’d failed. Who _was_ she…?

“Another minute, and they would have eaten my Ghost,” Saint remarked solemnly, dragging himself up and mumbling. “Fallen are monsters...”

“Some are,” she agreed. “Are you well?”

“ _Well?_ No…” There was nothing to stop him from scoffing. “I was supposed to protect these people. I should be _dead._ ”

The Guardian's gaze flicked to the shapes at his feet, glazing with a soul-rending sadness. Empathy, not sympathy. “I’m so sorry..” she managed. “But I promise this wasn’t your fault. You’re stronger than you think.”

“Not strong enough...”

Another beat of silence, a slight breeze whistling through the grass all that broke the tinnitus still ringing in Saint’s ears. Memory flashed in his mind’s eye. All of the hope in the Speaker’s voice as he sanctioned the effort, the smiling faces of those who _knew_ this Guardian would protect them. Looking down at his shoes, Saint could feel his hands ball into white-knuckled fists. They didn’t know it would end this way. No one could have. He wished he could apologize, beg forgiveness from the corpses he’d lied to. Now it was too late. It’s not as if he couldstep back in time and right a wrong, un-break his promise. There was no way he’d be able to look his father in the eye now.

Something clapped to his chest suddenly, the jolt enough to pull him out of his pit of self-loathing. The Awoken had come a step closer, her hand pinning a slab of polished steel to his chest. It was the shotgun she’d been holding, pump-action locked backward on a spent and still-smoking chamber. Slowly, warily, Saint scooped the weapon up, taking one of his long steps backward and slamming the bolt home. It was utterly immaculate, even after the fight it had just helped to end. Winged gunmetal polished to a mirror sheen, mechanics well-oiled enough to stain his gloves at a touch. The action was butter, the balance perfect, the ergonomics tailor-made to his hand and the sights as if a second pair of eyes. There was even a roman numeral _XIV_ engraved in the side in burnished gold… as if it was made for him.Looking up and meeting the Guardian’s gaze, Saint noticed a smile tugging her lips. She’d stepped back too, her arms folded tightly. She wasn’t about to try and take it back.

“What… is this?” Saint managed to breathe.

“The Perfect Paradox,” she answered. “A little something I refurbished myself, in the hope I’d find you one day. I hope it feels alright. I’ve...heh...put it through it’s paces.”

Was she joking? “It’s _beautiful_...”

The Titan dropped his arms akimbo, cradling his new weapon close to his battered form. Watching this new friend he’d made. She had paced slightly to his left, brow dropped and hand stroking her jaw as if in deep thought. She considered a moment, and a moment more, before her voice was heard again. “Show him.”

It took Saint a second to realize he wasn’t the one spoken to. Her Ghost twisted before her, looking baffled in his own inhuman way. “Show him… what, exactly?”

“You know what, Dres.”

“I...” The little Light sputtered, shook in place as if to gesture _no._ “Absolutely not. Have you ever read _A Sound of Thunder?_ We shouldn’t even-”

“ _Dresden,”_ she cut him off, raising a palm. “Please. He has to see.”

Flicking his optic between both of them, the Ghost slowly, begrudgingly conceded. A cone of light danced from him, illuminating the space between the Guardians in holographic glow. They coalesced into shapes, blocky buildings and winding streets, a city the likes of which Saint had only seen in eulogy. The Ishtar Sink, the city of Freehold, the New Pacific Arcology- in their heyday, they may have hoped to match the civilized majesty of what he beheld. Such places didn’t exist. Not anymore. But here it was, skyscrapers and apartment blocks and ramen shops and train tubes, all under the watchful eye of a massive orb he could mistake as nothing else but the Traveler. So busy staring in marvel, Saint almost started when his savior spoke again.

“This is the last safe city of humanity,” she explained, pacing between stimulant buildings. “Hundreds of years from now. Millions live here, work here, play and raise their families. Pass contented. It’s a place of life. Security. Love and hope and… home. They needn’t worry about raids, hunger, disease, _Fallen_...”

“Like my people.”

“These _are_ your people, Saint,” she corrected patiently. “Their descendants. Please… don’t give up. This can’t happen without your Light.”

It was so much to take in. Almost too much. Emotions mixed in a slurry in the Titan’s chest, no one bubbling above the rest. “Everything I’ve ever build has _died_..” he refuted. “I’ve buried most of the people I’ve met, I… I can’t do this. Not anymore.”

“Guardians make their own fate.” Her acceptance was a sad smile. “But if you ever change your mind… I’ll be waiting.”

Only then did Saint realize the air was shimmering. Strange fey light twinkled in and out of existence around her, slowly folding in on itself and distorting like a reflection over rippling water. Aurora shimmered greyscale as she appeared to warp, a funhouse mirror image glistening in silver taffy. Saint’s eyes watered as he tried to focus on it. His head swam as impossibility turned and swirled, as a breeze from a white-hot elsewhere rolled over him and left goosebumps in his wake. Just as he breathed in to try and say goodbye, all returned to normal. Air stilled, grass rustled, fires burned to embers in the carnage all around. As quickly as this righteous savior had come, she was gone. Saint was alone again, clutching his new shotgun as if it were a security blanket.

Only then did it occur to him he hadn’t asked her name.


	2. Chapter 2

“ _I’ve killed enough of you to end a war. And you took my Light… I guess that makes us even. What are you waiting for!? Finish it, you cowards!”_

A familiar voice echoing off a stark white nowhere place, like sand in an hourglass. Talyn burned glassy corridors in a full sprint, heavy footfalls and panting breath reverberating endlessly in her skull. She’d outfitted herself for a war she knew was coming. Plasteel armor beneath her trench coat, sword and revolver and a City-forged rifle gripped white-knuckle. The shotgun she had given away still thrummed temporal coordinates, a set she had locked onto and followed like a moth to flame. Osiris had assured her of the mechanics of this place. Time wasn’t static. She’d end up exactly where she needed to be. In spite of it all, she couldn’t shake the feeling she was running out of time.

Blank portals sung as Talyn careened through them shoulder-first. The featureless corridors gave way to a hellscape, blackened ash drifting like snow among Vex architecture in it’s final designs. Desolate plains and dull spires stretched to the horizon, dominated by a cold, dying star that was once her beloved Sol. This was a place Talyn had witnessed before. It was the Vex’s perfect future, as decided by the overlords of their simulation engine. A might and a maybe. Even if it wasn’t _‘real,’_ the danger surely was. The Vex’s mastery of ontology could make a simulacrum prove fatal. It worried her. History had told of a legendary Titan becoming lost within the Vex’s forest, adrift in possibilities with sharp edges. If Osiris’ time machine had spit her out here, then there was little doubt in Talyn’s mind this was in the right place.

As she crested an ashen mesa, the Warlock was struck by a sight that stopped her dead. The space before her had been hollowed like a massive bowl, brassy metals and radiolarian glass forming a strange spire-like structure in the center. All around were the Vex, deceptively dainty robots congregated here on their knees as if they were taking worship. Descendant models- those individuals hailing from the far-flung future, where the final shape was law. Each was a pile of unpolished rust, gleaming silver tarnished a dirty brown with age and neglect. Their heads bore a circular crest, rings like a donut humming with computational power as the casings for their bubbling mind fluid withered around them. At their helm was a Hobgoblin of massive design. It stood stories above the host, it’s slight frame topped in a quartet of massive horns cutting an impressive silhouette on the strangled sky. A set of segmented metal tails lashed aimlessly at the ground as it’s grip adjusted on a line rifle the size of a train car.

None of the automatons had noticed Talyn yet. They were transfixed on the spire to an individual, their glaring optics pointed heavenward as they took congress with one another in a series of inhuman chimes. It wasn’t just another of their mysterious structures. The inside appeared hollow, a force field around it encasing the lone figure of a Guardian Talyn quailed to recognize. Saint-14 was just as massive as the last time she saw him, his armor prickling with new sets of spikes and heavier plate. The decorations were new as well. Every fold, surface, and possible crevice was adorned in faded purple ribbon, strips flowing like the cloth of the mark on his belt in tassels. Talyn could feel his Light even from here, but something was wrong. The harder she focused, the fainter it grew, as if it was being slowly siphoned somehow. No, that couldn’t be..

Dresden appeared suddenly enough to startle, thinking aloud as he quantified Saint’s bondage. “That Mind,” he gravely intoned. “It’s attuned to his Light signature. Draining him...”

Eyes widening, Talyn’s voice took an edge of panic. “Just like...”

“Yeah,” the Ghost assured, as if he’d read her mind. “ _Move._ ”

She didn’t need to be told twice. Racking the charging handle on her rifle, Talyn grit her teeth and advanced. The fastest way down was instinctual- dropping to a thigh let her use the curvature of the bowl to side, dust kicked up in clouds that followed her and invaded her helmet’s filter. She picked herself up mid-motion and took off running the short distance to her foe. The closest Vex to her was a Goblin, a frame perhaps the size of a man with an artful energy weapon clutched in a single hand. The machine had clearly heard her coming, although it hadn’t bothered to rise. It’s arms folded as if being screwed back into place, it’s entire torso turning with it’s head as it tried to take stock of the noise. Inquisitive noises shuddered from it’s frame as it focused on Talyn, as close to confused as it realistically could be. The collective mind behind it’s eye swelled electrical fluid as it realized what she was. Too late.

Throwing her arm before her palm-out, Talyn coalesced the Void into a circular space between her and the Goblin. Savage, primordial quarks buzzed a violet glow, propelled forward until they slammed into the machine. The blow was accelerated entropy. Light ripped the Vex frame apart completely silently, tearing it down to it’s most basal atoms and letting it fade away like dust in the wind. A quick snap of martial force, and a challenge was issued. It’s fellows had noticed, ranks of identical machines rising and getting their bearings. The Goblins trilled warning, and behind them rose even larger beings of wider shoulders and blackened steel. Minotaurs, clutching their gigantic projectile mauls in corroded fists as their alto joined the hostile song.

Talyn was outnumbered a hundred to one, and she felt it. A wall of multicolored weapons fire crashed into the space she used to be, mathematical in how they followed her movement as she advanced. The rifle in her hands chattered in every direction, retaliation spilling radiolaria and smashing mechanics in fully automatic staccato. Ammunition ran before the Vex did. Talyn was caught frantically clicking an empty chamber as a Minotaur closed the distance and cut her down with it’s arm. Death was a mere setback. The Light resuscitated her with sword and revolver in either hand, high-velocity rounds bisecting robots in single shots as her blade claimed limbs and heads. A firing squad riddled her with white-hot slugs and left her in a heap, only to be crushed by a vortex of simmering Void when breath found her again. Torch Hammers sang purple explosives into her back and burned her in the cold, the Minotaurs wielding them rent to pieces in the next breath. Again, again, _again,_ the Vex silenced the phoenix trespassing in their perfect world. Always, she refused to die.

The pile of defeated Vex was growing knee deep by Talyn’s dozenth resurrection. It would have been impossible for the Vex’s chieftain not to notice. Shuddering the very earth under it’s splayed feet, Agioktis, the Martyr Mind turned from it’s prisoner to face this immeasurable interloper. Spent of ammunition, she had holstered her cannon and fought intimately, fending off battalions of the tireless machines marching towards her. A trust left her sword coated to the hilt in sticky mind fluid, stuck fast in the belly of a Minotaur in it’s death throes. One of the frames marching up behind her got too close, and a fist like a Titan’s met it straight in the optic hard enough to dent it inward. Bracing her boot on an armored cuirass let Talyn pull her sword free, blade tracing an arch of white robotic blood through the air as she twirled it expertly. Snarling like an animal, she glared down her blade as the point came to rest on the approaching Martyr Mind.

She had the beast’s full attention the moment she was airborne. Agioktis twisted with mechanical shudder, it’s single eye glowing red in unfeeling calculation as she leaped to it’s level and bore down with a valkyrie scream. It couldn’t come to a conclusion fast enough. A heaving of Talyn’s muscles brought her blade singing in a downward arch, a furious cry muffled through her helmet. Steel rent steel in a discordant screech as the impeccable edge bit deep. One more flick of her wrist, and the blade was free. The Martyr Mind’s two rightmost horns fell into the ash with a _piff,_ the stumps glowing angry red with seared mechanics and Light-singed steel. No matter how bold the display, this was nowhere near a fatal blow. Pain was alien to a being with no soul. To the raven Warlock’s horror, Agioktis hadn’t even been thrown off-balance.

Gleaming, cold optics glow focused as the beast finished it’s rapid-fire calculations, coming to a final prediction. Talyn’s Light was impossible to quantify, but her position in space wasn’t. Servos spooled and whined as Agioktis lashed out, the steel of it’s massive arm colliding squarely into the Awoken’s chest. It had spared her no measure of strength. Talyn couldn’t even cry out as everything in the cavity imploded, the sheer force of the blow enough to turn her insides to soup. She was sent flying like a rag-doll with blistering speed, striking a wall of computational solid behind her with a sickening _crunch_. Stars exploded before her eyes as whiplash slammed her head into the geometry. Firm. Remorseless. She crumpled in a heap. Barely clinging to life, trying to rise on her hands and knees, Talyn craned her head to see Agioktis stomping the distance slowly. Coming to finish her off. It would never get the chance.

So focused was the Mind, so decimated was it’s host, it’s purpose had broken. As Talyn tried to use the wall to stand, a gong sound rippled the scent of ozone across the desolated plains. Raging purple corona heralded the chill of crisp nothing, Void culminating into the shape of a discus held aloft by a single point in space. _“Martyr Mind! Time to die!”_ was the battle cry as he reached the apex of his leap. Saint-14 came down like a shooting star. Terminal velocity married with a snap of his shoulder, the edge of his shield smashing into Agioktis’ neck mercilessly. His descent was unimpeded- paracausal weaponry simply negated the metal around it, cleaving the massive Vex in two effortlessly. It made one final keen before crumpling into pieces, shattered frame spewing still-crackling radiolaria all over the sands.

The greatest Titan to ever live had landed kneeling, his shield glowing harshly before evaporating in his hands. Standing to his full height in the wreckage, his visor scanned left and right before finding her. His savior, broken and wounded and spent. Talyn had managed to rise as well, somehow. Throwing her helmet to the floor showed an expression of abject misery, baring her bloodied teeth in a grimace with eyes pricked in tears. Dresden had appeared as soon as the battle was over, flashing his Guardian in glittering spotlights that slowly mended her injuries. It gave the Titan plenty of time to cross the way.

“It’s been a long time, my friend,” Saint haughtily said as he got closer, clapping dust off his gloves. “I’ve chased your memory for centuries. Are you well?”

Aside from the pounding headache, knotted muscles, and the fact her chest still felt like it was halfway caved in, yes. Talyn managed and thumbs up and a smile, and the Titan continued. “You should go now,” he said. “Those who could kill me are dead… you’ve made sure of that.”

“But what if the Vex take your Light again?” the Warlock managed to ask. “This isn’t the first time they’ve tried this, Saint, I-”

“Impossible,” he dismissed. “It cost them _everything_ to build the Martyr Mind. When you crushed it, they were doomed.”

“ _Me?”_ A chuckle passed Talyn’s teeth. “You’re the one who did all the c-crushing...”

The pair of them shared a laugh. Feeling it too much in her chest, the raven Warlock took a knee and coughed harshly. Saint unhesitatingly dropped to her side, one of his bear-paws squeezing her shoulder as she hacked and steadied herself. Dresden was almost done fixing her. Bathed in the glow of his eye beam, two archons of Light breathed slowly, listened to the howl of dead solar wind across the ashes of this forgotten future. Slowly, surely, her breath came more evenly, the pain surely numbed. By the time she was mended, Talyn had the strength to speak again.

“You… you want me to leave you here?” she asked nervously. “You’ll be stuck here for _years_...”

Clapping her hand in his massive palm, Saint-14 hauled his savior to her feet and gave her shoulder one last squeeze. “You’ve _both_ done plenty,” he said, nodding to the stoic figure of Talyn’s Ghost. “I’ll meet you the long way around, at the entrance.”

As he spoke, the mesa behind him dimmed in a menacing darkness. Hundreds of warp shimmers danced hostile light through effervescent fog, heralding the arrival of theDescendant Vex in their numbers. Reinforcements. Packs of Goblins closed ranks with mathematical precision, the tarnished beauty of their Minotaur and Hydra commanders blending into the ash with hulking, deteriorated frames. A sea of furious optics narrowed on the Guardians, each speaking ubiquitous command. Exterminate. Cleanse the variable. Take revenge. Their wind-chime calls drew Saint’s attention. He cocked his head over his shoulder, did a double take, then set his visor back on Talyn’s widening eyes. A pat on her shoulder and he broke away, turning to face the still-growing horde without fear.

He hadn’t seemed to notice the space around her was shimmering, just as it had before. Talyn whispered a goodbye as she slowly began to fade, temporal resonance calling her back to the place she belonged. Perhaps Saint had heard, but he was too focused on his foe- the press of mechanics and glowing radiolaria had multiplied from her last estimate, hundreds becoming thousands in the blink of an eye. There was no indication that he cared. Reaching behind him, the greatest Titan to ever live unclipped his shotgun from it’s holster. A rack of the pump slammed a new shell home, the roll of his massive shoulders sending all his accolades shimmering. There was a playful joy in his growl.

“After all.. What’s a few more years of fighting Vex?”


End file.
